


Implications

by QueenofBaws (Sisterwives)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/QueenofBaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a reason they were so revered, yet so despised. But not even they, in their infinite wisdom, could properly express what that reason was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Implications

They rarely deigned it necessary to interact with the others. They were nothing more than figureheads, anymore, their faces and names used to threaten and intimidate more than anything else. When required, they'd appear in the Round Room, silent specters with sharp eyes and warning scowls, nodding and posturing on cue. The missions assigned to them were either nigh impossible (they'd return smeared in sweat and blood, bones and joints aching, thrumming, warning of imminent failure; every and anything to set an example of how a team worked, how a mission was supposed to be accomplished, how a true member risked life and limb for their Superior), or cake walks (table scraps fed to them, consolations for the rigors of betrayal and ostracism, gifts to sate and satisfy their egos while keeping them from growing rebellious from exhaustion), with no middle ground.  
  
The message this treatment sent was clear: They weren't like the others. For whatever reason, they simply weren't.  
  
This served to perplex most of the neophytes, those who had no memory of them as Apprentices, those who could only squint and tilt their heads to the side, puzzling out _why_  Lexaeus was treated so very differently than Xaldin (while their timbre and gait suggested nothing short of brotherhood),  _why_  Zexion was somehow so unlike Vexen (even though scathing whispers of "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree" followed them wherever they skulked), and just  _why_  they were the only duo among their ranks to be simultaneously revered and handled with kid gloves.  
  
"Should I set up the board?"  
  
"Don't bother," came the sharp reply, a stark contrast to the Hero's low rumble of a voice. "I'm tired of  _games_."  
  
Though he was gifted the ability to change his appearance at will, Zexion could boast of something few of his cohorts could--he had only  _one_  true face. It was a novel concept in the Organization; he and Lexaeus comported themselves exactly the same behind closed doors as they would on a mission, doling out reprimands, standing audience to the Superior. One with cool, quick contempt, the other with calculative silence.  
  
"They honestly believe we don't grasp what being sent to Oblivion means. What it _entails_." The two had met in one of the darker corridors, per the usual, but even in the scant light, Zexion's eyes flickered with what might've been indignation, in a past life. "As though we can't see the assignment for what it really is."  
  
"And what  _is_  it, pray tell?"  
  
"Suicide." He spat the word as though it was acid in his mouth, letting himself fall back on the air, levitating effortlessly as he reclined. "Putting the Castle in the hands of a  _neophyte_. Recruiting  _Vexen_  alongside him. Sending  _Axel_." There was a childish petulance in his tone that Lexaeus did not particularly like, but had long-since grown to accept.  
  
"Perhaps--" the Hero began, only to be immediately silenced by his partner's raised finger. He held his tongue for the time, but folded his arms across his massive chest, the leather of his cloak straining at the effort.  
  
"It would be wise, Lexaeus, to  _carefully consider_  what you next say to me. I hope you aren't going to attempt to put me  _at ease_. You can't  _lie_  to a  _liar_."  
  
"Nor can you speak sense to one, it seems." Zexion's expression darkened, but he paid it little mind. "Your schemes are making you paranoid."  
  
"It  _isn't_  paranoia. We make them  _nervous_. We know too much."  
  
"Even  _if_ \--and it  _is_  an if, Zexion--there was some plot against us, why should we worry? When have we ever been bested? By  _anyone_?"  
  
Slowly, the Schemer turned his head, raising an eyebrow impatiently. Silence fell between them, but the answer rang loud and clear in the backs of their minds.  
  
Radiant Garden.  
  
Lexaeus pushed the thought out of his head. "We can handle whatever comes out way. Dwelling on it will be your downfall. It takes your focus away from matters at hand--of which there are none. I know how that mind of yours works. If you're not busying it with  _something_ , you drive yourself mad with could-bes. Stop thinking of Oblivion. I'll set up the board."  
  
But that was not the response Zexion wanted. "I'm not playing. I'm tired of  _games_. You know I dislike repeating myself."  
  
"You can't be tired of games if you never play them," Lexaeus pointed out, beginning to lose his patience. Times like these reminded him how different they were in age, in upbringing.   
  
Zexion shifted as though simply sitting upon an invisible chaise, his negligible weight held up in the air as he leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. "In chess," he began slowly, not unlike a parent berating a particularly troublesome child, "There are pawns. They are expendable. They are blind. They are used for nothing more than achieving some end. If they're lost along the way, it doesn't matter, so long as the goal has been reached, the king has been guarded, and enemies have been destroyed."  
  
"I think that's--"  
  
"There are  _also_ ," Zexion continued, hands meeting, fingers forming a steeple, "Players. They are, for all intents and purposes to the game, omniscient. They  _use_  the pawns. For them, it isn't war, it is a  _game_. They needn't put their lives on the line, because they have the pawns to sacrifice." He raised his eyes, "The Organization, Lexaeus, our happy little family, is exactly the same. Players and pawns, and I am so weary of the game."  
  
"That is…" he heaved a deep sigh, "A  _gross_  oversimplification of our roles."  
  
"Xemnas," Zexion held up a single finger, " _Player_."  
  
Sensing the futility in arguing, Lexaeus let out another frustrated breath.  
  
"Xigbar," a second finger, " _Pawn_."  
  
"Pawn?"  
  
" _Pawn_."  
  
He gave into the Schemer's delusion (as though he'd ever done anything else), and humored his ravings. "Axel."  
  
"Pawn."  
  
The Hero raised his eyebrows but chose not to question it. Zexion had always been better at reading people (or at least he had always  _believed_  he was). "Marluxia."  
  
Zexion rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Don't insult me by bringing  _them_  into it. As though there's any question to where the newcomers stand. None of their rank could _aspire_  to be anything more than pawns. They are seat-fillers  _on their best days_." The sneer reminded him of just how often Lord Ansem had reminded the boy that his intellect and station made him no better than anyone else. Unfortunately, as with most of Ansem's other teachings, he'd never quite taken it to heart. The only members the Schemer held  _any_  iota of respect for--begrudged though it was--were those who'd fallen in the labs. He was hardly subtle about his dislike and disapproval of the others.  
  
"Saïx."  
  
"The  _stray_?" he scoffed, though quickly turning pensive. "Player."  
  
" _Really_." But Zexion's expression was answer enough. "Xaldin."  
  
"Pawn."  
  
At least they agreed on that one. Thinking too long on it filled his mouth and gut with something hot and heavy and leaden. "Vexen."  
  
Another roll of the eyes and an easily foreseen answer. "Pawn."  
  
"You know who that leaves," Lexaeus murmured, carefully watching the Schemer's face, though he wasn't at all sure just what he was expecting to find. "You, of course, fancy yourself a player."  
  
He dipped his head in a sort of bow, the corners of his mouth turning up into something almost sinister. " _Naturally_. Do you not agree with that judgment?"  
  
"I certainly don't disagree." He drummed his fingers against his arm. "What does that make  _me_ , then?" The moment of truth.  
  
Zexion's eyes bore into his as he thought. " _Honestly_?"  
  
"Honestly."  
  
Slowly, the Schemer nodding, reclining midair once more, lacing his fingers behind his head. "If, when we arrive in Oblivion, my suspicions are confirmed…if we are being set up…and if it comes down to it…would you die for me?"  
  
He was taken aback by the sudden change in tone, in topic, and for the barest moment, he rocked as if struck. "Of course," Lexaeus swore, brow furrowed, strangely unnerved by the other's doubt of his loyalty. "You know I would."  
  
Zexion nodded again. "I thought so." He lowered his feet to the ground, one after the other, the move strangely graceful, for being so unnatural. "The honest truth, Lexaeus, is that I've yet to decide  _what_  you are, pawn or player." He crossed the distance between them, poking an accusatory finger into his partner's chest, "But it sounds as though  _you_  already have." His eyes flicked up to his, chips of ice in the darkened hall.  
  
And while he might've treated anyone else to the broad end of the Skysplitter for making such a harsh accusation, he accepted it readily from Zexion. He told himself he preferred the Schemer's stark honesty over his honeyed lies and porcelain illusions.   
  
Silence fell again, crashing over them in deafening waves. They stood in the darkness like two sentinels, unmoving, unspeaking, biding their time.  
  
When they broke the stillness, they broke it in perfect unison, Zexion resuming his lounging, Lexaeus walking off with a muttered, "I'll set up the board."  
  
They were different from the others, Lexaeus and Zexion.  
  
What it all came down to, what set them apart from their peers, was their relationship.  
  
But if the other members--even the other  _Founders_ \--had any aspirations of picking _that_  apart, examining it under a microscope until they pinpointed exactly  _what_  they were to each other, they were setting themselves up for disappointment.


End file.
